Page 101 of House of Cards

Hard.

“Ow!”

“Once you’ve earned it.”

“You realize you’re putting your life on the line, withholding chocolate from a hormonal woman like this? Is this really the hill you want to be slaughtered on?”

“Nothing in life is free, kitten.”

I wish I could tell him to go to hell, but I want that cake as badly as I want to breathe.

“Fine. What’s it gonna take?”

He carves a sliver of cake from the slice with a fork and studies the morsel with a faintly bemused expression on his handsome face. “What’s it worth to you?”

“You want me to name my own price?”

“That’s fair, isn’t it?” His dark eyes flicker to me.

“Um…I could…” I rack my brain for something that won’t give him too much satisfaction. He’d probably like something where I’m on my knees. “I could stop calling you names for like…twenty-four hours?”

“Interesting proposition, but…” He glances down at the morsel on his fork, and then slides the fork between his lips.

His eyes shutter closed as he chews, his head moving side to side in a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. “Mmm-mm!”

I should have grabbed the second fork and stabbed him in the fucking face. But watching him eat that cake with such unadulterated bliss plastered on his normally stony face is making my entire body tingle with want.

Not for cake.

For him. And cake, maybe. Like at the same time.

Oh, God.

His eyes open, and a flicker of a smile touches his lips, like he’s caught me with my hand in the cookie jar. “The frosting alone is worth more than that.”

“I’ll…I’ll…” I lick my lips, and his eyes dart to my mouth.

“You’ll…?”

I groan, dragging my fingers through my hair. I know what he fucking wants. Whateveryman wants the moment they remember you have a mouth.

“I could…you know…blowyou.” The last is barely a whisper.

“Could you? You don’t sound so sure, kitten.” He carves another slice from my cake, eating it as I fight against basic human dignity and a chance at a chocolate cake.

Who am I kidding?

“Fine, you sick fuck.” I throw my hands in the air. “I’ll do it.” My hands go into my armpits as I inch around the table. “Guessing I only get the cake after?”

“You’re guessing right.”

“Least it’ll help with the taste,” I grumble, shrugging my shoulders as I try to hype myself up. He’s just standing there, carving another sliver of cake, like he has all the time in the world.

“Could you at least face me?”

He sets the plate down, taking his sweet time finishing his mouthful before turning to me. But as I sink to my knees and reaching for his fly, he grabs my jaw in a tight grip.

“Get on the bed.”

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